The Burden You Carry
by Grissom
Summary: Grissom has found himself with a great burden on his shoulders. His thoughts as he makes his decision. Contains spoilers for the finale!


"The Burden You Carry"

_4/21/06_

**A/N**: Thank you to Miss Cam for the quick and precise beta job.

**Contains spoilers for the season finale!**

It is strange what the human mind remembers. Many facts and events get lost in the flow of time, but there is at least one event in every person's life that stays with them, down to the smallest detail. What they were doing, where they were, what time it was, what the day was, everything. For some, it is Kennedy's assassination, for others it is the terrorist attacks on 9/11. Grissom, however, was sure that it was the moment he got the phone call that made his heart freeze.

He had been in his kitchen, staring absently into the fridge as he re-discovered the fact that he had nearly nothing edible left. It had been a tough day in the lab; double-homicide turned murder-suicide. The case had left them all frustrated with the human psyche. He had just turned to check his e-mail when the phone rang. The time of the call had been 8:39 AM.

So now he found himself sitting stiffly in a generic hospital chair, staring at the still form of his best friend on the bed in front of him. He studied the array of tubes running out his arms, and the wires all traveling to the monitors settled in the corner of the room. All of it added to the feeling of dread that had settled into his stomach.

Anyone looking in would think him cold and uncaring. They wouldn't know the turmoil that lurked just beneath the surface. The crushing weight on his shoulders, the weight he had only reluctantly agreed to take one cold night.

"_C'mon, Gil. It's something everybody's got to have. And I wouldn't trust anyone else."_

He closed his eyes for a long moment, a part of him willing the scene before him to go away. Begged for it all just to be part of a very bad dream. But everything was the same when he opened them again.

He looked down at his hands, his mind a jumbled mess as he tried to figure out what to do. This wasn't one of his puzzles. He couldn't just put pieces together and know exactly what the outcome would be. This was a lot trickier than that.

He wanted to scream, to curse Jim for putting him into this situation. Wanted to beg someone else to make the decision for him. But he knew he could never do that. He'd been entrusted, essentially, with his friend's life. And that wasn't something he could ever take lightly.

And, he knew, Jim would do the same for him. If it had been Grissom lying in the hospital instead, Jim would be there the whole time, making the right decision.

But what was the right decision? That was what was tearing Grissom up. He could allow the surgery, knowing there was a chance it would save him. Yet, the surgery also carried great risks. Grissom knew this, but he didn't know Jim's mind. Would he want to stay on life support? Could he live with himself if he were paralyzed?

Grissom looked up briefly as a nurse stepped in to check vitals, and then returned his gaze to the floor, where he suddenly found the grain on the floor fascinating. When she stepped out again, he looked up at his friend's face.

It was then that he knew his mind was made up. A million thoughts ran through his head, but he clung to his resolve, even if he knew it was selfish.

He couldn't lose his friend. He wasn't ready to let him go just yet. And if it were possible, he would trade places with him in an instant.

Grissom stood, and with one last glance at Brass, turned and made his way to the reception desk. Everything around him seemed to blur and fade away into the background. There was only him, and the deafening echo of his footsteps. Nothing else mattered, just what he was going to do.

He reached the desk and stared at the marble top for the longest time before responding to the woman's question.

"Gil Grissom. I need to speak to Dr. Wilson about Jim Brass. Yes…we're going to do the surgery."

He was vaguely aware of the nurse telling him that the doctor was going to be just a few minutes, then found himself back in Jim's room. He stood by the side of the bed, looking down at his friend's pale face, thinking that this whole situation was all very wrong. Things like this didn't happen to people he knew. Didn't happen to people he cared about.

He reached out a hand and gently placed it on Jim's arm, giving it a light squeeze. "C'mon, Jim," he whispered gently. He didn't say anymore, for fear that the wall would break and his emotions would get the best of him. It was his best defense, tried and true…hide your emotions so they can't rule you, so everyone will think you've got it under control.

If only they knew how often he was an inch from breaking…

The doctor chose that moment to arrive, and everything seemed to blur together again. He only vaguely remembered the conversation with the doctor, signing some papers, then being asked out of the room so they could prepare Jim for the move to the OR.

He followed a few steps behind them as they pushed Jim away, and watched through the window of the swinging door when they told him he couldn't go any further. They turned a corner and disappeared from his view, and he felt his stomach do a flip. He managed to find his way to a bench and sank onto it wearily, placing his head in his hands.

He had no idea how long he sat there; he ignored everyone who passed, their voices an indistinct blurb of noise. A million possibilities of what could happen ran through his mind, and it was stretching his nerves to the breaking point. He felt as though any moment he was going to leap up and physically assault a wall or something similarly violent.

Someone sat on the bench next to him, but he didn't look up. Not until he felt a cool hand pry one of his away from his head and wrap around it. It was only then that he looked up into a pair of familiar brown eyes, equally as weary as his.

She pulled his hand further from his head, now holding it in both of hers. A simple act, but one that seemed to lift some of the burden from his shoulders. He wasn't the only one lost, the only one hurting.

They were in this together, no matter how it ended.

"Thank you, Sara," he whispered.

End


End file.
